Advance Wars: The Becoming
by The OgeeBoogie Man
Summary: A world is overturn by Olaf's dictatorship! How can Orange Star muster the power to attack Green Earth through all of this? Up to part seven: Drudgery
1. Sparks

Advance Wars: The Becoming  
  
Vilna, Blue moon, 7/24/12  
  
The rain patters down on the slaving citizens of the tundra country of Blue Moon. It is one of the very few bouts of rain in the nation, as it is normally very cold and dry. But today, the storm clouds well up around the capitol building and form a thick gray sheet over the dank skyline.  
  
"So, where are we going?" asked a soldier as he was lead down an aisle at the drafting ceremony.  
  
"Well, the surrounding nations have partitioned the Stars to annex some of their land to us temporarily, meaning that it's completely legal and necessary, so I really can't think of a reason for Blue Moon's crash rearmament program. I didn't think we were in such an aggressive relationship with them anyway. But apparently, maximum precaution is needed for some reason," answered his friend.  
  
"Man, why do we have to bring the entire damned army? The Stars haven't even rearmed, so we shouldn't have much to worry about, right?"  
  
"I guess not. They only have a few tanks left over from the past war."  
  
"So we get the Blue Moon navy and airforce all involved in it? I'm surprised Orange Star is as allowing as it is."  
  
They stepped up to the stage, walking into the 3rd row of his training comrades. They stood still as stone, and in perfect line as they waited for the speaker to give his speech. The speaker was the junior Commanding officer for the Blue Moon Army, and he was a tall, rail-thin man wearing a shady-looking brown jacket and blue storm cap. He carried a revolver, more for style than for protection, since he spent most of his time in the walls of the capitol building. Three generals were lined up in front of him respectively.  
  
"Today, I would like to honor the annex of much-needed land for the ailing country of Blue Moon. It is important that I cut to the chase, since I'm a bit late, and the ship is leaving in about five minutes. We are facing some major crisis, as our land is running low on natural and mineral resources. It is by great luck and fortune that we come into the open arms of the secret shady, society of the Black Hole Republic. With their say in the international vote, the scales were tipped in our favor, and we are now allowed to barrow crucial reserves-from Orange Star-for our country's need. We thank Black Hole, and will lend them support in their future struggles, though we know very little about their society or just where they first broke off. We would like to praise Orange Star as well for this commendable gesture."  
  
His name was Gratin Tucker, called 'Grit' as a nickname due to his dark, cynical attitude. He had a heavy southern drawl, and he looked tired and pale.  
  
"Now we are on our way to secure our share of the deal, and will return with the fruits of our labor."  
  
The audience murmured lightly, and the troops were called off the stage and out the door. The murmur became a cheer, and Grit stepped down, and his generals followed him into the upper levels of the building. He went up floors until he reached the office of his superior, the senior Commanding Officer of the Blue Moon Army and chief of the crash rearmament program- Olaf Freidrich Sarcowsky. Olaf was a great fat man in blue uniform with a booming voice. He was older, in his late fifties, and he wore a frizzy unshaven beard that completely obscured his mouth.  
  
"Gratin Tucker. I will need your help in the annex of this land."  
  
"What am I needed for, sir?"  
  
"I am sending you down with the expeditionary force, along with Generals Fritz, Pfeiffer and Jerik to secure the boundary."  
  
"Me? You're sending me down there, just for a petty little thing like this? But why, sir?"  
  
"Securing 200 square miles of land is no easy task, Grit. I will need your utmost cooperation to accomplish this task. Like I've always said, a rusty nail requires a hefty hammer."  
  
"200 miles? I was told only 40!" he said as Olaf paused.  
  
"The Black Hole Republic has newer, more lucrative requests. Now you can either accept your position, or be replaced."  
  
"Alright, okay, no biggy. When do I leave?"  
  
"Right now! Move!"  
  
He motioned for Gratin to leave. He did, and Olaf slammed the door behind him.  
  
---  
  
Davenport, Orange Star, 7/25/12  
  
A tall, thin blonde with a voluptuous figure paced between two rows of officers. She was Nellie Sarcowsky, usually called Nell for short, the vice president of the country of Orange Star. Conceived by most to be the most beautiful person ever to grace such a level in politics, she had a bright, cheerful attitude. But in this case, she was rather troubled, as Orange Star rarely encountered very serious problems. Because of this, presidency and vice presidency has gotten to be more of a popularity contest than a test of political skill. Nellie, with her beautiful body and cutely instructive demeanor, came to be the product of this.  
  
"So how many troops have we trained, captain Smith?" she asked.  
  
"About 12,000. Enough to counter a good-sized assault, if concentrated properly," said a tall, thin man in a work uniform. He was the Orange Star personnel chief.  
  
"But these men would be useless without proper mechanization," said a shorter, fat man in a business suit, the captain of Orange Star's only armored division.  
  
"Well, um, I'm not sure how that works," said Nell as she rubbed her head. "You're talking tanks now, right?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.  
  
"Well what have we got in that area?"  
  
"We've just gotten past the half-track stage again, and we're currently modernizing the light tank mark III. It should be ready for production in a couple of weeks."  
  
"Excellent. You have my orders to mobilize whatever you have now at the east boarder, around the area they're annexing. I just can't trust those communists of Blue Moon." she paused. "And the aerospace and navel industries are doing just fine?"  
  
"Yes," answered the tall man again. "We have capacity to give them proper air and sea support wherever they need it."  
  
"Great. um. tea, anyone?" The room fell silent, and just as Nell felt the sweat drop. A man in an orange vest burst into the room.  
  
"Vice president Sarcowsky! We've got a situation!"  
  
"I told you, you can call me Nell. Now, what's going on?"  
  
"What looks like a very large Blue Moon navel force is completely bypassing the said territory and heading towards our east port. The other one is swimming toward the northern beach. They're already miles beyond what they'd promised to annex!"  
  
"You're joking. All right, maybe not. This is just peachy. send all the mechanization we have, and begin full-scale production of whatever we've built so far. Concentrate them in two regiments at the points they're attacking."  
  
"Yes, Nell. I'll give the order."  
  
HLS Shrike, Orange Sea, 7/26/12  
  
Landers and other ships were churning up and down in the waves, careening toward the beach at 40 knots. Fewer than half the crews knew the true purpose of the mission, and that it was to do much more than annex a small amount of land from Orange Star. About eighteen hundred tanks and 30,000 troops were soon to be forced upon the shores with an entirely different purpose, along with assorted artillery and a few thousand helicopters. A force of equal size to this one was heading toward a similar position from the southern port.  
  
"It's cold as Hell," said Gratin in the highest deck of the largest aircraft carrier. "I swear to God, this has to be the coldest, driest region in the world, right between here and Blue Moon."  
  
"Well, we're over the open sea. I guess that makes it a lot worse," said a captain of the ship, Joseph. "Damnit, when can we just land already? We're a lot farther out than we're supposed to be."  
  
A loud voice crackled on the radio.  
  
"Attention Blue Moon convoy. This is the Orange Star department of defense. You have our order to turn around and head back. I repeat, this is not a request, this is an order. Turn back now or we will fire on you. You have already bypassed the allowed territory."  
  
"Holy possum shit," said Gratin. "Joseph, get me Senior Officer Sarcowsky."  
  
"Alright," he replied as he adjusted the second radio.  
  
"Senior Officer Olaf Sarcowsky. Are you there, sir?"  
  
"What is it?" his voice bellowed.  
  
"Sir, we've crossed our territory, and we have to head back, or they'll fire on us. Can I give the order?"  
  
"You will do no such thing. In fact, you have my order to fire on them. Immediately."  
  
"But why, sir? Why are we doing this?"  
  
"Look, this is an order, Gratin! If you want the chief plan to work, you'll have to be obedient!"  
  
"What chief plan? We've already broken the-"  
  
"Fire immediately, or I'll have you discharged! Dismissed!" With a hiss of static, Olaf broke connection.  
  
Gratin sighed, and the first radio hissed again.  
  
"Attention Blue Moon convoy. This is your last warning. Turn back now or we will fire on you."  
  
Gratin turned on the intercom next to the radio and barked the order. "All personnel. By order of Senior Officer Olaf Sarcowsky, we are to fire at will. Repeat, locate all Orange Star positions and fire at will, post- haste!" 


	2. Crossing the line

Lander #42, Orange Sea, 7/26/12  
  
"I think I'm getting seasick," said a young soldier named Mike Theobald.  
  
"Well whinin' about it isn't gonna help, is it?" said the Sergeant.  
  
"No sir."  
  
The lander rocked violently back and forth, splashing the crew with the occasional gush of frothy water. A loud alarm could be faintly heard from the ship to their right.  
  
"What's goin' on up there?" asked Theobald.  
  
"I dunno. Maybe a hull breach or somethin'," replied his friend.  
  
"Will you two boys shut up? We're gonna be landing soon!" barked the Sergeant.  
  
Loud explosions would now be heard among the ships guns. Flashes of light blinked among the massive floating cities.  
  
"What the? We're firin!"  
  
"What for?" asked Theobald.  
  
"How the Hell do I know?"  
  
A loud splash could be heard outside of the lander, and a large wave followed by a shower of water crashed down on the crew. The lander bounced and smacked up and down in the ocean.  
  
"Holy crap! They're firin' back! This is gonna suck," said Theobald's friend.  
  
"Soldiers!" yelled the Sarge. "Things are getting' a little rough out here, and I'm not sure this tub can take it. So get prepared to make a swim, okay?  
  
All 20 faces nodded morosely. Soldiers strapped on their inflatable gear to hold them up against their 40 pounds of equipment. A volley of thumps sounded from the mainland, indication artillery fire. The crew braced themselves for the impact, and the plethora of shells crashed in the surf on all sides. Two landers went down next to them, and another two capsized. With a terrifying crash, a shell hit the back of their lander. It exploded right in the middle of several people, killing them all and blasting the entire back section off. The lander tilted back and dumped every soldier off. Theobald splashed into the water, three others on top of his. He struggled out from beneath and made a mad lunge towards the beach. It was about fifty yards down. The gentle current pushed him back, and he cringed as a petrol shell hit the waves a little behind him. Blue-hot shrapnel sprayed everywhere, scorching some of his comrades. He kept swimming on, getting closer and closer, little by little. He could now see the attacking guns farther up the beach.  
  
He felt his friends, churning up the water around him. Hundreds of soldiers were now bobbing up and down in the water, diving and stroking to safety. Machine gun fire sprayed on all sides, showering little flecks of water everywhere. Theobald looked ahead to see a fellow soldier get hit in the head, spraying blood and God-knows-what onto his face. He wiped it off, the saltwater stinging his eyes. He now realized how frigid cold the water was, and it was darkening from the blood. Floating bodies were amassed among the waves, dead or alive, he couldn't tell. His felt someone grab his arm. He was about to tell the person off, when he saw that there was no person. The dismembered limb floated next to him, staining his uniform with blood. He brushed it away in disgust, and felt something bump his feet. Thinking it was the beach, he stepped up onto it, but it sank. Looking down, he saw the upper body of another man, his legs lying in the sand a couple feet below. He was disgusted. Organs leaked out, wrapping up his legs like an unholy squid. He tried to kick them away, and his feet finally hit solid ground. He leapt out of the water, stepping over another soldier's carcass, and ran up the beach. The sand squelched under his boots.  
  
He ran off to the side, taking shelter behind trees. He saw the massive army crawl out of the surf, and duplex drive tanks, which loomed up and shed their amphibious equipment, followed them. The major shelling had stopped how, as most of the heavy artillery batteries had been destroyed. The tanks fired at the machine gun emplacements, silencing them for good. Theobald panted as he walked over to his Sergeant, who was gathering up their group.  
  
"Sarge," he squeaked.  
  
"Ah, Theobald. Glad to see you made it," the Sergeant replied.  
  
"How many times? How many times did you do this before?"  
  
"About four. Trust me, Theobald, this isn't the worst I'd seen by far. But it is the first time I'd had to swim, which makes it the worst I'd been through. Don't worry, we've destroyed just about all their defenses. Let's go." Theobald joined his group and marched on up the beach.  
  
Vilna, Blue Moon, 7/26/12  
  
"General Van Brendan, we've crushed the resistance. They were not even a handful," said Olaf to a tall man in a back uniform.  
  
His name was Gerhard Van Brendan. He was an ex-member of the Germanic Green Earth Army, and he had risen to the rank of 3-star General in the Black Hole Republic.  
  
"Good. Have you taken the eastern port as well?"  
  
"Yes, General. In approximately seven days, we should be able to cut off one quarter of their nation, and the most important one, at that. It controls their shipping and most of their steel production. Once it is seized, they will be starved of resources, and will have no choice but to surrender completely."  
  
"Great! I'm glad to see that your army is so functional!"  
  
"Well, that's only the good news. The bad news is that Green Earth is seeing this as an act of massive aggression, and they are reacting in a very hostile manner, welling up troops on our boarder. If we keep this up, we may have a two-way war on our hands. And that may crush us in the end."  
  
"I'll take care of it," answered the shady general. "My Senior Officer has a large, able army ready. We can even make it look like an Orange Star attack."  
  
"That would be of utmost help. Try to do this as soon as possible, any skirmishes will use up valuable resources needed for the western war. I used to work for Orange Star, and I know that they are usually quick and brutal to respond to such things. Well, at least I tried to inspire that under my command."  
  
"Don't worry, sir, we will suppress the Green Earth Army for as long as you need. But just remember failure is not an option. My Senior Commanding Officer will make sure of that." Olaf paused.  
  
"Just who is your Senior Commanding Officer anyway? And why can't I talk to him about it in person?"  
  
"My leader is troubled. He cannot be seen in public or by the press. It. just doesn't work."  
  
"Ah. What is he, some sort of psychopath?"  
  
"Well, he has very strict policies. He doesn't fly well with others."  
  
---  
  
Davenport, Orange Star, 7/26  
  
"Oh, this is not good," said Nell to her round table of commanders. "I wasn't expecting such fierce fighting. Do we have any sort backup?"  
  
"We've organized our Mark II light tanks into three light armored divisions, but we're afraid they might not be enough to stop the threat. The Blue Moon force has heavy tanks that vastly outclass ours, and what appears to be around 60,000 to 90,000 troops. They are advancing rapidly, and they've already penetrated our coastal defenses and are cutting off the most crucial of the nation's cities. If they succeed, they should reach the capitol in a couple weeks or so," said the personnel chief.  
  
"But that's a worst-case scenario. It we combine artillery and air strikes, and concentrate our troops well, we should be able to break off the attack and greatly slow its momentum. This will buy us crucial time to set up another steel mine and port back where we are now," said the captain.  
  
"Well, I guess we should do that, but we'll need to put out as much as we can before they break off the territory. I will also need for you to start preparing our economy for total war. Put more money into tank development as fast as possible. Train more troops, make more weapons, and increase our existing stockpile! It needs to happen now, or it won't happen. Got it?"  
  
"Yes ma'am. We'll start right now," said the personnel chief. 


	3. Devided nation

Wellington, 8/1  
  
Columns of troops swept over the city. It was an Orange Star seaport, and it was located several miles beyond the landing point. Due to lack of resistance, Blue Moon had taken roughly a quarter of the country in only a few days. They would attempt to starve Orange Star of their resources and attempt an easy takeover.  
  
On the radar, Maxwell McDowell scowled at the advancing phalanx of red dots among the city. He was a very large man who had an insistent habit of weight training. Whenever he was not in command, or sleeping, or kissing up to Nellie Sarcowsky, he was weight training. Whenever a pair of his muscles burned, he would work another area of his body.  
  
His opposing commanding officer was a coward of the most indigenous type-a sniper. Not a shady man who waited on a rooftop, but a militant prude that focused almost entirely on artillery and rarely brought his troops into direct combat.  
  
Maxwell's efforts in the war had been well founded but hopeless. His bombers had been shot down by incredibly accurate SAM fire, and he had lost control of the seaport, so a navel battle would not take place. His ground forces had only one way to attack the city, and that was to charge straight into the city and destroy everything. And considering the astounding range and accuracy of the enemy's artillery, and the short range and weak munitions of his, it was suicide. He had always modified his tanks to have incredible firepower to their weapons, with a larger caliber gun and greater propellant, but it was useless now.  
  
He spat into a rusty bucket beside him and adjusted his radio to summon his crew.  
  
"Captain!" he said in his booming voice.  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
"Tell Nellie I hit an impossible standpoint in this battle, and I can't do squat. We gotta to pull out quickly, or we'll suffer blistering artillery fire."  
  
"Yes, sir!" the man repeated, and he goose-stepped off to the officer's lounge while Maxwell sat and pondered. Would it be possible to go through the forest? Or maybe cut around the enemy city and attack from all sides? It would require faster transportation, better trained troops and more convincing capture potential. This would most definitely be the perfect job for his partner, Samantha Rowe. She conceived battle in an entirely different way from him, but it was far more helpful in certain situations. If only they had a third commander so that it would be easier to concentrate themselves at more effective locations.  
  
Sole Harbor, 8/1  
  
Gratin had never felt so used in his life. He had broken Orange Star's recovering line of defense, and it seemed to be for no reason. Why would Olaf make him do this? What was he truly planning? And how was he supposed to continue with this?  
  
"Gratin! Are you listening?" yelled Olaf over the radio. "I want you to press on to the capital immediately. We have to act fast, or we'll lose our opportunity.  
  
"To what? Why are we doing this?"  
  
"We are getting rid of them once and for all," said Olaf with a snarl in his voice. "After they have been removed, we will become the world's super power once more. What's more important right now is that I'm needed for the second battalion right now. Apparently, our beloved general Fritz has been lost in battle, and they are falling to superior, brewing numbers in the North. I will be arriving by helicopter tomorrow. Good-bye."  
  
Gratin turned the knob on the radio and reluctantly ordered his troops to continue. His battleship, the Shrike, bobbed up and down slowly in the cold, murky waters. He wasn't anxious to see Olaf. He wasn't anxious to keep fighting, either. He didn't know what to do. He remembered back when he used to work for a rifle company in Orange Star. His boss, Maxwell McDowell, pulled him up and helped him to get educated in munitions and tactical strategy. He had become one of the best in the nation in the field of direct combat tactics, while Gratin had created some of the most effective long-range guns in history. They were opposites. And now he worked for Olaf, a demanding, self-indulgent man who could stir up powerful morale with his people. They didn't seem to fit together nearly as well.  
  
Sole Harbor, 8/1  
  
"We're moving on already?" asked Theobald to his comrade.  
  
"I don't know. Sarge!" he yelled.  
  
"Yes, Henry, we're preparing another charge. It seems we've destroyed what little army they'd begun to build."  
  
"Great, sir, but why are we doing this?"  
  
"Beats me, son, but orders is orders," he said as he bit his stogie. "I would have thought we might have at least warned them Orange people before we cut their nation in half, but it seems Olaf has got somethin' new planned. Gratin says we're trying to become the dominant power in the Western Hemisphere again."  
  
"But we've never been the dominant power. Green Earth has always been larger and more powerful, and Orange Star surpassed us technologically."  
  
"Well, it all seems like a good idea to me. I mean, who are these candy- ass, whiny little people to tell ours what to do? Now let's move out." He motioned in a stick-arm fashion to head on into the woods.  
  
Theobald concurred, but sullenly. He stepped through the narrow paths in the trees. It was dense, cool and green, and he was thankful he wasn't in those frigid boats again. As the path widened, he climbed aboard the handrail on the side of a full armored personnel carrier. It sped up, and the forests widened into a clean, paved road. Large cities were visible ahead. Mountains loomed over them, and forests seemed to swallow up all else. It was much more beautiful than the frigid tundra wastes and arctic desert that Blue Moon had settled for. But the distant shots that rang out from the city tainted the beauty.  
  
The APC stopped. The row of vehicles spread out around the road and slowed to a stop. A whistling noise sounded as two petrol shells exploded in front of them. A missile streaked overhead. Theobald climbed down and got behind the APC for cover with his fellow soldiers. The Blue Moon artillery began to thunder away in their positions, while the tanks maneuvered to the side and fired their less effective shells. More charges exploded around them, and one hit the APC and tossed it into the air.  
  
"Holy crap!" yelled Theobald. The soldiers regrouped behind other vehicles. It was cowardly, but it was an excellent way to avoid getting hit by artillery-even if the protecting vehicle was hit, it wouldn't hurt the crouching soldiers behind it unless it was knocked back a lot. After a short while, the shelling stopped. The Blue Moon guns had gone silent. Orange Star had been beaten again. It was much too easy.  
  
Davenport Commanding Officer Outstanding Achievement Ceremony, 8/4  
  
"Andrew Klein!"  
  
The 


	4. Regrets

Pivot Isle, Orange Star, 8/3  
  
"Andrew Klein!"  
  
The uniformed man shouted out the name of the new prodigy that would be the fleeting chance of Orange Star's survival. Andrew Klein, of the Pivot Isle research facility, was finished with the usual commanding officer training regime, but had finished with one of the highest scores in the country. It was far higher but still in a shorter time than either Maxwell McDowell or Samantha Rowe, and he was one of the youngest to even apply to the facility at 19 years old, still a little short, but plainly sharp and wise.  
  
"Yes, sir! Reporting for duty, sir!" he responded.  
  
"You don't have to answer in such a plastic voice. You've been drafted up to an emergency assignment. We need you to guard the capital. It's about, I'd say, 4 days away from Blue Moon capture. It's one of the worst material crisis's in history."  
  
"Glad to finally be part of the big team," he said with repose.  
  
"Um, I cannot guarantee that you will like this. We have very little to work with. Almost all of our standing army is with the other commanding officers, and we only have new recruits for you to work with. They are the best we've got."  
  
"What would that be, sir?"  
  
"Well, so far we've only managed to train various personnel, since just about all of our mining facilities have been captured. We're borrowing from Green Earth as quickly as possible, but you'll have to make do with what we've got for now. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
"Good. You will be flown over to davenport at 05 hours tomorrow, and I can only wish the best of luck for our country."  
  
"I won't fail. If I can pass the way I did, I can take care of some old fart and his hick partner."  
  
"You'd better be very careful, we have little information on those two commanding officers. After a little fighting, we will be able to determine their strengths and weaknesses," the man finished. He left the room.  
  
Andrew donned his characteristic red uniform and prepared to leave. He walked out onto the porch of his office, and saw a man in a black uniform striding towards him. He stopped and stared for a moment.  
  
"Hello?" he asked.  
  
"Andrew Klein, sir," said the man in black. He spoke with an accent Andrew had never heard. It sounded thickly foreign, jerky but every syllable ending with a gentle drawl. He was startled. "I have come to interview you on this starting day of your glory."  
  
"Sure," he said, letting his sturdy ego get the better of him. The man nodded, and two more black-clothed men came running up with a camera and a clipboard. "First question. Name a hit for you."  
  
"What?" Asked Andrew, puzzled.  
  
"You know, a hit. Something that you like."  
  
"Oh. Mechanics," he said. It was his main field and his top industrial priority.  
  
"All right. Now name a miss. Something that you don't like," said the man, who's voice grew jerky again.  
  
"A miss? Fine. I hate waking up early in the morning," he said, recalling his having to wake up at 5:00 tomorrow.  
  
"Alright, great. Name something you would use your power as commanding officer to stress tactically. Name your strengths and weaknesses."  
  
Andrew thought a moment. Why would they need to know that? If they were part of the institute, they would have known from his records that he never asked for any money to be taken from one strength or given to another, such as Maxwell's superior direct firepower for sacrificed artillery range. But he was too curious to keep quiet at this point.  
  
"I call for equality, 100% infantry equipment, 100% vehicular strength and 100% artillery power as well as normal range and radar vision for all," he said in a militant tone.  
  
"Thank you. Now, for the final question. What is your emergency procedure? More fundamentally, your commanding officer power?"  
  
"My designs reflect ease of repairing, and so in a sticky situation, the vehicles can be repaired 20% within a day. I call it my 'hyper repair' process."  
  
"Thank you. You have been very helpful. I think, yes, that it is time for us to be leaving."  
  
"Now if you could just tell me what the survey is for?" He asked as the man on the left began to snap pictures.  
  
"For publicity, of course!" he said with unnatural quickness. "You want all of the people of your country to know about your life, right?"  
  
As Andrew though for a moment, the men strode off quickly without a parting word. Andrew went to prepare for his debut at Davenport, but in his room, he casually looked out the window. He saw the two men get into an Orange Star helicopter. It began to lift off, and it headed out to sea. Not off to another peninsula, but out over the ocean as if returning to Green Earth. Out in the water, several miles away, he could just barely make out the silhouette of a black cruiser.  
  
---  
  
Davenport, Orange Star, 8/7  
  
Olaf was on the largest streak he'd ever been on. He'd practically marched across the Orange Star peninsula nonstop, and had hardly ever even bothered to take position. True power was key in this war, and mobilizing against your enemy's weakness was only the second blow in the one-two punch. He had figured out these fool's attack patterns rather easily with his years of experience in other wars.  
  
The big brute would try to run in and annihilate everything with his tanks, and destroying them with artillery as soon as they were in range could easily stop that. It was sometimes easier to let Gratin take care of him, for his improved artillery would usually break the back of the ape's force before his inferior tanks and troops would have to come into play.  
  
The shrewish, frail-boned woman would send her troops in through the woods or mountains, or just speed then through cities with her carriers. She always seemed to show up unexpectedly, but when she did, she was fair game for him, as he kept his units in tight, well-rounded formations that could usually take care of her troops and inferior tanks.  
  
The only way he would let himself defeated would be if he were sent up against a tactically superior opponent with few or no weaknesses. Nothing was more fun than watching artillery shells destroy the large, thick barreled tanks of the ape-like man. He would go down in history as the man who established the never-ending reign of the Blue Moon.  
  
"Commander Sarcowsky!" shouted an officer into his face. Olaf quickly snapped out of his daydream and rose to attention.  
  
"What is it, officer?" he asked in his traditionally booming voice.  
  
"We have broken through their line of defense. The enemies are now separated, Maxwell to the North and Samantha to the South, and neither are in the position to close in. Expect capture of the Orange Star capital and removal of president Sarcowsky in approximately two days."  
  
Olaf felt the familiar sting of guilt for his actions. If there was any reason he might have hesitated in his conquest, it was the ordeal of ousting his own daughter of her power. But this quilt was quickly crushed by his desire to watch her fall flat on her face. All her life she had been lucky. She refused to join him in heading to Blue Moon, just because her rude self didn't like the crisp cold winters and short, wet summers of the country. And what a bitter coincidence it was that his colleague, Gratin Tucker, had happened to be her long-time boyfriend at the time of his decision to join Blue Moon. It had also brought a pang of guilt to think of how he had near wrecked his daughter's life, but the lucky little trout had managed to become president, which negated most of that guilt.  
  
"Great," he said. "Send in infantry, keep the vehicular forces back a bit. We need to focus on capture, not destruction."  
  
The officer left. If Gratin cannot bring himself to bring down his ex girlfriend, Olaf thought, he could go one better and bring down his own daughter. It would be climactic, dramatic and a little bit traumatic, but he would do it. 


	5. Indecision

Davenport, Orange Star, 8/7  
  
Theobald heard crashing explosions behind him as he set out for the capital on foot. But not the kind that come from a firing gun, or the kind that emanates from a fast-moving piston engine. He looked back and saw artillery cannons being smashed to pieces by enemy gunfire. He looked ahead again, and saw muzzle flares from the city. Small swarms of dark orange were now pouring out and entering the forests ahead of them.  
  
"Sergeant! Sir, you said that we were past their line of defense!"  
  
"Well, I don't know what the hell is going on."  
  
"What should we do, sir?"  
  
"Engage them at will!"  
  
The orange masses had now been absorbed into the forest, but as they approached, bullets began to pour at them. Theobald barely believed what he saw when his friends started dropping from all sides. Artillery and rocket fire bore down on them, cutting into his ears, but he was quick to retreat. But as he ran back, he faced a terrible surprise.  
  
"Sir! We have to retreat, sir!"  
  
"Sorry, soldier, but you're not going anywhere. Olaf said to fight to the death, and that's exactly what we'll do," he said as he pointed his mounted machine gun at Theobald's chest.  
  
Theobald looked at the sergeant, then turned foreword, sighed and ran with his comrades. Dreading the Blue Moon policy of fight-or-die, he fell into a group, while another group began to scrabble across the open field unprotected. He couldn't save them, two artillery shells fell and made them disappear into a cloud of dust.  
  
He briskly strode through the woods, scraping up against the trees. Hearing the shriek of a missile, he ducked behind a fallen log. The missile crashed a few yards away, knocking down trees and causing mud to erupt into the air. Theobald quickly got up and moved out of the cloud of smoke to see that he was practically all alone. He kept moving, and noticed that the missile units had stopped firing. His happiness was cut through by the roar of jet engines above him.  
  
He looked up to see an Orange Star bomber cruising low over the trees, then it swept out into the meadow and dropped its payload, destroying an APC and an advancing artillery piece. Blue Moon guns fired to take it down, but it maneuvered back until it was right over where he was. He broke into a sprint, and jumped to the side as he saw it dip slightly to drop more bombs, which crashed somewhere in the foliage to his left. More bombers screamed overhead, but they ignored him. They closed in on the advancing Blue Moon battalion, when missiles struck two of their fuselages and sent them crashing and plowing into the forests.  
  
The fight in the background had died down, but Theobald heard crashing in the brush. He looked to see if it was his fellow soldiers, but ducked upon seeing the orange-and-red cameo uniforms. They scuttled past and heard them begin firing something. Without looking back, he cleared the last layer of trees to come out into the open, the Orange Star HQ right in front of him. Firing away to his right side were artillery and dug in tanks, oblivious to his presence. He ran up and hid behind a support pole, keeping sure to stay out of the window's range of sight, and crouched.  
  
There were machine gun emplacements to either side of him, but they seemed deserted. The door opened, and a group of five Orange Star soldiers ran out. They ran past, and he hurried inside the swinging door. He crept silently into an empty office with a large window up front that let him witness the battle first-hand. Blue Moon's units had bogged down in the middle of the field. There were piled of wreckage, barely a unit still stood its ground, and most of what remained of his army had was retreating. Scattered dead bodies in puddles of mud and charred earth littered the plains.  
  
Theobald had been left behind. He didn't know what would become of him, or what the Orange Star's POW regime was like. He laid down his rifle and prayed.  
  
"Freeze!"  
  
An Orange Star officer stood behind him and drew his pistol. He gave him a calculating look, not the expected look of murderous death you might give someone who's race is invading and trying to seize your homeland.  
  
"Stand up and put your damn hands on your head!" he said.  
  
Theobald put his hands on his lavender box helmet, then stood silently for a few seconds. The Orange Star officer pulled out, with his other hand, a walkie-talkie.  
  
"Guys! I've cornered a Blue Moon soldier down here in the briefing room! What the hell do I do?"  
  
"Just shoot him! We've got no time for POW's!"  
  
The officer looked at him again. Theobald gave him a stiff, scared look, and the officer put his walkie-talkie away. He put down the gun and ushered me back out the door.  
  
"Where are we going?" asked Theobald.  
  
"I don't want people to hear the shot and get all freaked out inside the building. I'm going to shoot you outside," he said.  
  
Theobald walked outside, and as soon as he cleared the door, he ducked to the side and pulled out his army issue handgun. The officer ran out, and Theobald shot him in the leg. He fell over and dropped his good. Satisfied with his doing, Theobald held him down and removed his officer's garb. The pants were similar enough, thankfully, so he forewent prying those off the struggling man. Zipping it up, he jokingly thanked the officer and re-entered the building.  
  
He faced three Orange Star soldiers, let them pass by, and hoped they would take the injured officer for crazy. Not quite knowing where to go, he left the office to a bustling corridor. Soldiers followed him, coming in from outside. People were breaking out bottles of Clover Keys sweet Champaign, obviously from the victory. Theobald walked briskly down, trying to be casual, but looking out for an elevator. He came to an elegant landing of stairs in front of a large window. Damn. Richer, but somehow less lazy.  
  
Five floors up, he came to an elevator marked 'private'. It was locked. He'd luckily remembered to take the officer's keys. Fumbling around for the key labeled 'private elevator', he plugged it in and whistled a Blue Moon opera tune he'd heard before. He went to the second-highest floor, beneath the observation deck. As he stepped out, the air of the building changed completely. The metallic corridors became furnished plaster walls and colorful wallpaper. Stepping through, he heard voices chatting in a large room ahead. Pulling out his handgun, he peeked inside. It was dark and dusty, and there were two tall, heavily built men and a young blonde congratulation a small man in a red mechanic's uniform.  
  
The woman was Nellie Sarcowsky, the president or Orange Star and daughter of Olaf, his senior commanding officer. He felt a leap of joy. But then he was hit with the realization that he could do nothing. Olaf specifically said that he would not like her killed. But he had no army with him; all his comrades had retreated. He couldn't make her surrender, since the guards and kid were probably armed. Here he was, in the highest level of the country, ready to make the biggest name for himself in the short Blue Moon history, and he couldn't make his move.  
  
"Freeze!"  
  
One of the guards had spotted him. He dropped his gun behind the door and put his hands up.  
  
"You know that you're not supposed to be up here at this time," he said.  
  
Theobald was speechless. But Nellie spoke up for him.  
  
"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure he just got lost or something."  
  
"Wait a minute," said the boy. "Take off your vest."  
  
I looked down. A bit of my blue uniform was stuffing out from beneath the vest. I pretended not to notice.  
  
"Why, sir?" I asked.  
  
"Don't play blind with me. Unzip it!"  
  
I had no choice. I unzipped it, and hoped they wouldn't recognize my shirt as that of a Blue Moon infantry. They did.  
  
"He's the enemy. How did he get that far up?" asked Nellie.  
  
"It doesn't matter. Lock him away," said the boy as the guards hauled him off. 


	6. Two fronts

Geitlammer, Green Earth, 8/7  
  
Green Earth had signature hot, wet summers. Not even the waterlogged Yellow Comet Empire could muster the humidity from the surrounding waters and the evaporated Blue Moon snow. The capitol of Geitlammer, right in the strongest of these weather patterns, faced routine monsoons and the occasional tsunami. Hurricanes were also likely to preside near the shore, and tornadoes frequently wreaked havoc in the spring when the tropical Green Earth winds met the frigid Blue Moon gust. Seismic conditions were unstable as well, with heavy fault lines running throughout the continent. The warm, pleasant breezes made it a favorite spot to visit during the spring and fall, when temperatures were not too extreme.  
  
"Trouble in Orange Star, I hear?" asked Theodore Eagle, the stern, highest- ranking field marshal of the Green Earth army.  
  
"Blue Moon has cut the nation in half quite terribly. They've probably reached the capital by now," said St. Chamond Drake, Eagle's portly second- in-command. They accented each other's attitudes clearly.  
  
"If the Orange Star is destroyed, and Blue Moon acquires their army and weapons, they will easily be able to overpower us. How could anyone let this happen?"  
  
"Don't worry, mate, Orange Star's been training and preparing like mad. They'll hold their bounty, tight and sure, or I'll be a swab," spat Drake.  
  
"But what if they don't? That madman dictator Olaf will make no mistake in giving Orange Star all he's got. And he's a highly aggressive tactical opponent. He's attacked so hard and quickly, I doubt Orange Star has had even the time or strength to rearm. And his partner can turn a city to rubble from miles away."  
  
"Hush, Eagle, I've read up on some of those officers. Tough as steel. They wouldn't ever give up for squat. They have the determination of me when I was a lad.  
  
"You wore knickerbockers and a sailor's garb until you were commissioned into the academy."  
  
"Its called tradition, old boy, and I'm not the slightest bit ashamed of it. Now pipe down, I'm trying to work."  
  
The two tacticians argued frequently; they both thought nothing alike. Eagle was an ex-pilot. He flew one of the fastest, most well armed planes in the airforce of his time, and would not let anyone pilot less in the Green Earth army. His focus was Blitzkrieg-style bombing of the enemy's front line, and then the dispersal of troops right behind the enemy's wreck. But he never found an effective use for ships, since he'd rarely had to use them, due to Blue Moon, being the subject of most of their conflicts, neighbored them from above. Therefore, he'd budgeted the decaliburization of some of the ship's guns in order to save materials for powerful, slow-burning jet plane fuel and strong weapons and armor for his airforce.  
  
Drake was laughably contrasted to Eagle, with the habit of using sailor's metaphors very often, and having a strong sense of tradition. Whereas Eagle might have skipped over something, Drake would search around and patch things up from behind. He was of buccaneer ancestry, and was raised accordingly so, on a ship. He'd never found much use for air strikes, so he let his planes fly with sub-standard munitions and smaller caliber guns. However, with that money, he would build state-of-the-art ship's engines that could send his vessels speeding beyond the enemy's, almost guaranteeing a first strike. He also reinforced his ship's armor with extra layers of steel, using torpedo nets to protect the hulls from submarine attacks.  
  
Both of them had taken care of Green Earth for many years with great success when working together, and both preferred, in the proper Green Earth fashion, that their last names be pronounced first.  
  
Eagle walked among the neat rows of consoles that lined his office. His phone rang. He briskly picked it up.  
  
"Eagle, sir! This is Major Jackson at the Dire Range air base," said a militant but terrified voice.  
  
"Ah. What is it, major?"  
  
"We've been hit with a surprise attack. Our air units have been bombed on the ground, and artillery has wiped out almost all of our ground forces!"  
  
This had shocked Eagle beyond comprehension. How could Blue Moon cut in half Orange Star and viciously attack his land at the same time?"  
  
"Are you under siege?" he asked.  
  
"No, they've bombed out our communications network. This is the emergency line."  
  
"Have you tried hailing Blue Moon?"  
  
"They're too busy to help us."  
  
"Help? I mean asking them what the hell they're doing! They've broken the Lunar Treaty! This is an act of tremendous outrage!"  
  
"It's not Blue Moon attacking us, sir! It's Orange Star, sir!"  
  
"What? How is that."  
  
"I don't know! They won't respond. I need reinforcements!"  
  
"Alright, I'll send my secondary regiment. Do you know who is responsible for the attack?"  
  
"Intelligence says it's their rookie commanding officer Andrew Klein."  
  
"What? How the hell did he get over here so fast? They're working with a skeleton army! We'll be there as soon as possible!"  
  
Eagle hung up, abashed, and turned to Drake.  
  
"So they've taken the air base, eh, old boy?" said Drake matter-of-factly. "I guess I'll be needing to head up the Bounty River with my ol' tubs, since you've only got one air battalion."  
  
"Sigh, damnit. We'll need to move our remaining battalions up there as soon as possible. We may even have to prepare our economy for total war. I think it might be good to continue development. But I guess we'll have to discuss that later," he drawled off.  
  
"Alright. I think we should be heading out now," said Drake as he trotted as fast as his stubby legs could carry him to the stairwell of the building.  
  
"Where are you going? Why don't we just take a transport chopper?"  
  
"It's too dangerous, mate! A missile could hit us from five miles away! And who, might I ask, would suspect a bus?"  
  
"Sigh," said Eagle as he followed his partner to the streets below. 


	7. Drudgery

HMS Coattail Flagship, Orange Star, 8/11  
  
This was maddening! Every move he'd made, and the boy made one to counter it! Every strike opportunity thwarted! This kid had no weaknesses!  
  
Olaf paced up and down, thinking of a way to defeat Andrew. Morale among his troops was kept up by reminiscence of their premiere victories, but they had lost the backbone of their assault. Most of his front-line ground units were in shambles. Troops through the forests were blasted away by artillery. Scouts destroyed by hiding missile troops. Tanks lost in confusion, forced into open, vulnerable areas while shells pummeled them from all sides.  
  
But he had backup. A massive navy poised for destruction, and a quick sea strike to regain lost territory. These would deter the trio. It was he against them. Sure, Grit had helped a little bit against Maxwell, with the advantage of dense fog surrounding his position and superior artillery. But he couldn't save the attack from collapse. Not when things got clearer and more into the open.  
  
He decided to call on his personal Navy just to get the drop on the Orange Star irregulars. He phoned his second general, Pfeiffer.  
  
"Hello?" said a voice that sounded very deep and throaty, almost cancerous.  
  
"Yes, Pfeiffer? I am giving you the order to strike soon, upon Sole harbor, with your fleet. We will need you to hold it as long as possible while I concoct a counterstrike."  
  
"Yes, commander. When shall?"  
  
"Try nighttime, maybe 400 hours tomorrow? Something to surprise them."  
  
"Got it. I'll ready my troops right away."  
  
"Oh, and Pfeiffer, just what had your fleet consisted of again?" Olaf asked indignantly, knowing exactly but wanting to hear it just for excitement's sake.  
  
"Our three largest battleships, three submarines with nuclear capability and three old but completely refurbished cruisers. Al; ready to destroy, sir."  
  
"Excellent. Be on your way."  
  
Olaf hung up and chortled to himself, knowing that there was no way he could possibly fail.  
  
--  
  
Davenport, Orange Star, 8/11  
  
Theobald looked out the window of the cell. It was thick glass instead of the more classic steel bars, and the cell itself was surprisingly clean and sanitary for such. He heard a guard open the door behind him, but remained still.  
  
"Get up," said the guard as he opened the heavy iron door, which swung squeakily on its hinges. Theobald got up and walked out to the man, who was holding his rifle up at his torso level, seemingly knowing how sneaky Theobald was. He walked very briskly and jabbed him with the barrel whenever he lagged.  
  
He was idled into a small, dank room, with three other people, all of whom looked like prisoners, and were chained together. He didn't recognize these three people from his unit, so he wasn't sure if they were survivors or just criminals or whatever. The guard attached the chains to his hands while another man scribbled something into a notebook.  
  
"All right," the man said in a mild southern drawl. "If you all want to return to your country, then you'll have to behave until the fighting dies down," he said. Theobald was sure, now, that these four had been the scant few survivors. Everyone else had either retreated or died.  
  
"Now, when I say behave, I mean do whatever we say, whenever we say. You see, we here aren't meant for notorious cruelty to our prisoners, like your nation, Blue Moon. But this offense is far worse than that of most prisoners of war." He emphasized 'war', pronouncing it woe-her. "You people have split in half out land, without warning, and with even less reasoning. To not eliminate you right here on the spot would be a leniency."  
  
"We've got some work to do, rebuilding bunkers and such here, and we'd be glad if you helped us out on that," he said, motioning for the guard to usher them out at rifle point. The five of them walked through the hall, going deeper and deeper into the building, and eventually to a brick- walled, filthy underground cavern. Workers banged away at nails and knocked through damaged walls to put on fresh brick. They were led out to what looked like a cement bunker, smashed in completely and with powdered dust and dirt smeared around everywhere. Another man waited these.  
  
"These are the four?" he asked. The guard nodded. "All right. I will coach you guys on repairing this," he said. He handed them mops. "First, you are to clean all of this filth off the floor," he said. The prisoners nodded, and the man stood there, while the four men began scrubbing away at it furiously. Theobald swore loudly to himself.  
  
---  
  
The night was quiet except for the gentle thrumming of the engines of Chamond Drake's landing craft. They plowed up the river, kicking up water on all sides. The Bounty River stretched through most of Northern Green Earth, and it was the perfect way to land a navel strike on the captured Dire Range airfield.  
  
The landers came in two different sizes, as usual, one for small squads of infantry, and one for vehicles and large companies of troops. They docked on the easternmost beach of the range, while Eagle and his land-based army came up from the South, almost flanking the whole city. Troops in green cameo poured onto the beach, while Eagle's elite Fusiliers swarmed from the forest. The Orange Star gunners were unaware of their descent until it was too late to effectively stave off an attack; not a single beached Green Earth soldier was killed during the first wave of advance. They used grenades and plastic explosives to blast open the backs of the fortifications and execute the gunners inside. Others simply threw them into the front view port and incinerated them.  
  
The Orange Star watchmen heard the ruckus and alerted their sleeping comrades, but were surrounded and silenced quickly by the approaching marines. Those who'd even tried firing back were to find themselves trapped by fire and killed in seconds. Sturdy Green Earth tanks, typically of the fixed-turret design, rolled through the streets and gave covering fire against the outnumbered Orange Star vehicles, overturning APCs before they had a chance to get away, while tanks were smashed in their parked positions.  
  
Eagle jumped out of his command truck and waited as the Orange Star troops were rounded up. Searchlights bore down on them as they were dragged, two by two, disarmed and unequipped, into several straight columns.  
  
"Search them all, and find Andrew Klein," said Eagle to the Fusiliers. They nodded and combed through the crowd, looking for any small, wiry man with frizzy black hair and a red mechanic's garb. And time after time, Andrew remained hidden. After several thorough searches, dawn was almost upon them, and still no Andrew had been turned up.  
  
"He must have escaped, mate," said Drake as he bit his cigar. "The lad's a genius, he's probably staged an elaborate escape plan."  
  
"But no vehicles were reported to have left the area since the attack, and it was confirmed that Andrew was leading it directly," said Eagle.  
  
"Something doesn't seem quite right. According to an Orange Star news bulletin, Andrew had just recently driven Olaf's forces out of Davenport on the seventh. And that is when the dogs attacked this place. It doesn't make a lick of sense."  
  
"I refuse to believe that my officers are incapable of a simple intelligence report," shouted Eagle. "I will get back at Andrew, whether or not it helps Blue Moon take over the region."  
  
Within minutes, the city was in the hands of Green Earth again, and Theodore Eagle smiled as he ordered his airforce to regroup and prepare for the counterstrike on Orange Star. 


End file.
